My name is Wilhelm.
I am a typical member of the 'Revolutionary Immigrant Generation.' Born into a family of Leithanien stock and having lived there myself, I followed my father into the Union after he joined the Birmingham Volunteer Army following the revolution.
Well, life is decent enough. My father's veteran's pension arrives like clockwork, wages are quite high, and for some reason, interest rates have climbed recently, so I don't have to worry about my savings.
I am currently attending high school. At my father's strong insistence, I joined the Young Communist League. I hang out with friends, my grades are average...
I was living like that until the rumors of a 'war crisis' solidified into an official decree.
To be honest, when I first saw the proclamation, I felt a bit lost.
The All-Union Primary Food Production Mobilization Decree.
The white papers were plastered all over the dormitory cafeteria walls, with that phrase stamped in bold letters right in the center.
[The Young Communist League, all University Student Unions, and Youth Labor Union branches shall participate in national projects for land reclamation and the increase of food production.
Participants shall have their service recognized as the merit equivalent of military duty and shall receive preferential treatment for future appointments to civil service or Party positions.]
To summarize: if you go dig in the dirt now, it will help your career later.
The students slurping soup in the middle of the cafeteria began to buzz with excitement.
"Yes! We must do our part for the Union!"
"Well, even if war breaks out, only those over twenty-five are being conscripted. It doesn't really concern us, does it?"
"Ugh, what a drag. Why are they telling us to go play in the mud?"
Some called it heroic, while others grumbled that since war was coming, they were now being told to pick up shovels. I stood somewhere in between the two camps.
Right then, someone slapped my shoulder from behind.
"Hey, Billy."
I turned around to see Kevin gesturing toward the proclamation with his chin.
"Hey, did you see that? It's equivalent to military service. Does this mean we just plow fields instead of going to the front?"
Beside him, Dorothy snickered. "Kevin, it would be a disaster if you went to the army. You'd probably hold the rifle backward and shoot our own men."
Kevin took a spoonful of soup and replied nonchalantly, "Anyway, if war breaks out, the Sarkaz will be the ones at the front using their Arts to block everything. Ordinary people like us should just stay back and study."
At the mention of the Sarkaz, Lida, who was sitting opposite us, frowned.
"Enough. I'm not even comfortable sharing a dormitory with them. Those horns... they give me the creeps."
Someone at the next table chimed in. "I saw it last time I went into the showers. One of them has Oripathy. There were black crystals embedded in their skin... Honestly, isn't it terrifying? What if we catch it too?"
Lida stirred her soup aggressively. "I don't want to use the same spoons as someone like that. No matter how much they scream 'Comrade, Comrade'... a disease is a disease."
In that moment, a sharp prick of discomfort struck my mind.
In school, at the Young Communist League meetings, and in every lecture, the teachers said the same thing: do not repeat the discriminations of the past.
Whether they were Sarkaz or the Infected, we were told not to brand them again in a classless society.
Yet, the chatter from the students beside me was the reality. As I hesitated, wondering whether to speak up, Sergey nudged my elbow.
"Hey, Billy. What about you? Are you going to apply for the rural mobilization?"
I looked back up at the decree for a moment.
Recognition of merit equivalent to military service. Selected personnel to be prioritized for placement in reclamation zones and state-run farms.
I set my spoon down.
"Hmm..."
The others looked at me.
"Let's just apply for now," I said. "Who knows how things will turn out?"
Kevin's eyes widened. "Whoa, for real? I thought you were studying to become a Party cadre. You're choosing the shovel?"
I shrugged. "The textbooks say it plainly these days: the revolution may have started in the cities, but grain comes from the fields. If war is coming, someone has to grow the food. Besides, there isn't just one path to becoming a cadre."
Lida asked with a bitter expression, "And the Sarkaz? The Infected? What if you run into them?"
I thought for a moment before replying, "Well, if we work with Sarkaz, their strength means the work will finish faster. And regarding the Infected, the People's Commissariat of Health says it's safe. What's the problem?"
Kevin raised his fork. "Alright, let's do it. All three of us will apply. You, me, and Dorothy. Lida..."
Lida raised an eyebrow. "I'm going too. I'm a bit worried, but Billy is probably right."
And so, the four of us went to fill out our applications on the spot. Under the title of 'Mobilization Application,' there were blanks for name, age, affiliation, health status, and prior agricultural experience.
Next to the health status section, a small sentence was written in fine print:
[Symptomatic Oripathy: Yes / No]
I gripped the pen and paused for a second. Then, I circled 'No.'
Lida glanced at me from the side and checked the same. Kevin jokingly pretended to circle 'Yes' until the office clerk glared at him, prompting him to hurriedly correct it to 'No.'
The clerk took our documents and spoke. "Thank you, all of you. Even though this mobilization is voluntary, it will be extremely grueling. Don't run away halfway through just because it's hard."
To those words, we all replied, "Yes, Comrade."
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